Treacherous
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Set in s3, Jean struggles with what her heart and her body and her unconscious mind tell her she wants. Will she give in?
1. Chapter 1

**Treacherous**

Her fingers danced over his sweat-slick skin, digging her nails into the taut, rippling muscles of his shoulders and arms. He was poised above her, his hot breath against her neck as he thrust into her over and over and over. She could feel him inside her, stretching and filling her with his hardness. Everything about him was hard and strong and hot. The pressure was building and coiling as he hit that spot just where she needed him. She writhed beneath him, canting her hips and increasing the friction she needed to put her over the edge. She felt his tongue dart out against her neck and she screamed out his name.

Jean Beazley sat bolt upright in bed. Her whole body was damp with sweat, and there was a throbbing ache between her legs. She buried her face in her hands, trying to catch her breath and calm the rapid pounding of her heart. She prayed that she hadn't actually screamed aloud in her sleep.

She swallowed hard and got out of bed. Her pyjamas stuck to her skin but she put her dressing gown on anyway. A glance in the vanity mirror showed her how flush she was. Despite this being the fifth dream like this she'd experienced in the last two weeks, Jean was unaccustomed to waking up this way.

Hoping to clear her mind, Jean went downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Anything to cool her down. From the inside out.

The house was dark and quiet. As it should be at nearly two in the morning. Mattie and Charlie seemingly hadn't been awoken by any noise Jean may have made in her restless sleep.

As she got a glass out of the cupboard and went to fill it from the sink, she cursed herself for what must have been the thousandth time. Why was she so consumed by him this way? Why could she not ignore the way he smiled at her, the way he gently touched her in moments of platonic affection or comfort? Why did she suffer from this longing for him? And why, after so many years alone and unconcerned with such physical things, was she suddenly unable to resist her sinful lust for the man in whose house she lived and worked?

"Jean?"

The sound of his voice caused her to jump. The glass slipped out of her hand and fell into the sink, causing it to break. "Oh dear," she lamented at her stupidity.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, coming to help her clean up the broken glass.

She jerked away from him. "I've got it," Jean insisted sternly.

"Right. I'll just leave you to it, then." Lucien turned to leave, not wanting to anger his housekeeper any further with his unwanted presence.

"No, wait. Stay," Jean heard herself say. "Did I wake you up?" she asked quickly.

"No, I was up. In my study, working on this case. Did I wake you up?"

Jean was thankful she was turned away from him as she finished cleaning up the glass. Because in a way, he did wake her up. Though certainly not in the way he meant. "No," she said simply. Jean turned to face him, once she was sure she wasn't blushing. "Well since we're both awake, why don't you tell me what you're stuck on with this case, hmm?"

They sat down together at the kitchen table. Jean listened intently as he explained the issue he was trying to work out, focusing on the words he was saying and not on the way his full, gorgeous lips formed each syllable and how those lips might feel against hers.

The next morning, Jean got herself dressed in her smartest dress and went right to Sacred Heart. She smoothed the curls of her hair and the wrinkles of her skirt as she made her way into the confessional.

Jean pulled the curtain behind her, knelt down, and crossed herself. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she murmured. "It has been ten days since my last confession."

"What are your sins, my child?" Father Emery asked in return, as he always did.

"I have been lustful. I have had impure thoughts," she admitted.

"Have you acted upon these thoughts?"

"No, Father, never," Jean insisted.

"Have you encouraged such thoughts? Have you willfully failed to turn your mind elsewhere?"

"They are…dreams. I can't seem to control them." Thankfully the priest couldn't see her. Jean was blushing bright red.

"Pray the rosary each night before you go to bed. The Lord will lead you from temptation if you commit yourself to Him."

Father Emery then absolved Jean of her sins, sending her on her way. She stepped from the confessional feeling renewed. She returned to the Blake house to carry on with her work for the day.

Jean did the vacuuming and laundry and tended to her garden. Lucien was out most of the day, thankfully leaving her alone with some peace and quiet. But when he returned just before dinnertime, disaster struck. Well, disaster in Jean's mind.

Lucien shouted from the surgery, "Jean, could you come give me a hand for a moment?"

She answered his call, wiping her hands on her apron as she made her way to him. "Yes, what can I do?"

"Come here," he beckoned. He was intently gazing at a test tube filled with something. "Take a look at this."

Jean stood beside him and leaned in to get a closer look. "What am I looking at?" she asked curiously.

"It's…"

When he trailed off, she turned to face him and immediately saw why he'd stopped speaking. He was staring at her. And not only that, his face was only about an inch from hers. His piercing, sparkling sapphire eyes bored into her very soul. Jean gasped, a sharp intake of the air he had just breathed out. Her gaze darted down to his lips and back to his eyes. Oh, those eyes.

The phone rang, startling them apart. "I'll get it," she said quickly, hurrying out of the room. She avoided him like the plague the rest of the night, cooking dinner, eating quickly, cleaning everything up, and rushing off to the safety of her bedroom.

Jean stayed awake reading as long as she could, hoping to exhaust herself past the point of dreaming, desperately trying to distract her mind. When her eyes felt drowsy, she changed into her pyjamas and knelt at the end of her bed, her rosary clutched in her hands. She murmured her prayers quietly, staring at the bedspread. All she saw in her mind's eye was Lucien's piercing blue haunting her.

She was on her knees to pray, but she had her eyes closed in concentration. But Jean became aware that she was moving back and forth. There was something in her hair, guiding her head. She opened her eyes and looked up, seeing Lucien's blue eyes watching her. He had a look on his face unlike any she'd ever seen. And he was completely naked. And so was she.

Jean was on her knees in front of him and instead of clutching the rosary, she was stroking his hardness, taking her in his mouth, sucking and licking him, eliciting the most delicious sounds from him.

She cried out, sitting bolt upright once again. This time, Jean knew she'd actually made noise upon waking up. The idea that she could have dreams, fantasies, about the most sinful, vulgar act…what was wrong with her!? Her waking mind would never even consider such distasteful things.

And yet, Jean knew her own body well enough to know that she had been aroused by what she'd done to Lucien in that dream. Tears streamed down her face. Her mind and her body were betraying her, and no amount of Hail Mary and Our Father prayers would free her from these torturous dreams. And Jean cried because she knew she didn't really want to be free. All she wanted was to make them come true, despite the certainty that such things could never be.


	2. Chapter 2

Jean knew she had to do something. After weeks and weeks of being plagued by her dreams of Lucien, going to confession and praying and finding no relief, she needed to find something else to perhaps dissuade her subconscious thoughts from her base desires.

She had begun watching him closely, carefully. Averting her attention had only spurred her imagination. And so she wanted to see him as he truly was, find something, anything to dampen her inappropriate attraction to him.

At first she considered that perhaps with his erratic lifestyle and work and drinking that perhaps he would be messy or unkempt in some way. But no, his clothes were always clean, his hair and beard neatly trimmed and coifed, and he smelled absolutely delicious. Even the gray in his hair and beard were endearing, giving him a distinguished, worldly appearance.

She tried to see the ugly side to his features. His face had lines of age and stress, particularly on his forehead and cheeks. But all Jean wanted to do was trace every line, kiss every mark.

His eyes. That bright, shining blue she loved so well. But he had heavy, puffy bags beneath them. Exhaustion and alcoholism surely brought those.

"Lucien, have you been sleeping well?" she asked, more concerned about his wellbeing than she was about ridding herself of her attraction to him.

"No, I've been waking up during the night more than usual," he told her.

She frowned with worry. "Are the nightmares bothering you again?"

"Not nightmares, no," he replied somewhat cryptically. "Here, let me give you a hand with that," he said, quickly changing the subject.

Lucien walked past Jean at the kitchen sink to take a towel to dry the dishes for her. As he moved behind her, he placed his hand on the small of her back. He lingered for perhaps a bit longer than he should have. Long enough for Jean to feel the heat of his touch, the sheer size of his hand in relation to her body. She stiffened, tightly clenching the pot she was washing, at the realization that he could probably encircle her waist with just his two hands.

When he moved away to a safe distance and began drying dishes, she as able exhale. Jean watched him carefully pick up each dish and wipe it with the towel and gently pile them all up on the counter. So much strength in those hands. Large palms with long, thick fingers. Steady hands of a surgeon, nimble fingers of a musician. Slightly calloused from hard work that he chose to do. Healing, beautiful, magical hands.

Those hands tracing her body. Palming her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers. She arched into his touch, gasping at the beautiful sensations. His hands moved on, squeezing and massaging the flesh of her thighs and bum, pulling her legs apart. His fingers danced over her like they danced across the piano keys, stroking at her folds, curling inside her, making her scream with delight. Those gorgeous hands then held her close as her body came down from her climax. He cupped her cheek and placed gentled kisses on her lips and eyelids and nose. He traced lazy patterns on her bare back as she nuzzled against his chest. She had never felt so satisfied and loved in all her life.

Jean didn't awake as violently as usual from the dream this time. Perhaps she had gotten used to them. A horrible, horrible reality that she couldn't escape, constantly tormented by her longing all day in his presence with no reprieve at night, when her mind was plagued by every fantasy she wouldn't allow her waking mind to consider.

The need for him was palpable. That dream was so vivid, as though he were in her bed with her, touching her, coaxing her into a state of unbridled arousal, loving her so completely. She tried to roll over, squeezing her thighs together as though she could will away the ache so easily.

She couldn't get comfortable. And she didn't dare get out of bed, not knowing if he would be up and about and somehow guess why she couldn't sleep. Jean turned over again, lying on her back and staring at the dark shadows on the ceiling. She pulled the bedsheets up to her chin, hiding her body from the outside air, the body that had been betraying her for months. The very idea that she could be so distracted by her sinful desires that she couldn't sleep for the want of him...

Jean's hand traveled down her belly and under the waistband of her pyjamas. She shouldn't give in to her lust like this. She knew that allowing the sin to overtake her in her waking hours was wrong. If she were stronger, she would banish all such thoughts. But she wasn't strong. She was utterly weak for Lucien Blake. Too weak to sleep off the ache. Too weak to prevent herself from doing something about it.

Slowly, tentatively, her fingers grazed over the soft curls between her legs, tracing her folds, feeling the overwhelming wetness caused by her dream.

She closed her eyes, envisioning that it was Lucien's hand touching her this way, his fingers rubbing and stroking her, just as she had dreamed. A sort of whimper escaped her lips and she bit her tongue, trying to keep herself quiet. Her heart fluttered in her chest and her breathing was heavy and fast through her nose as she curled her fingers inside herself, searching for the release she so desperately needed.

And as her climax radiated through her body, her muscles clenching over and over and causing her to tremble where she lay, tears bloomed in Jean's eyes. She rolled over as her body quieted, and she silently cried into her pillow, just as she had done far too many times when she had these awful, wonderful dreams. Her strength and resolve had failed her again. No matter how many rosaries she prayed, how often she went to confession to beg forgiveness from God, she was only falling further to damnation.

Somehow, someway, Jean knew she needed to find a way out, a way to cease the torture of loving and wanting and needing a man she would never, ever have.


	3. Chapter 3

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been four days since my last confession." Jean's voice shook as she tried to tell Father Emery of her sins, of her lust and impure thoughts, of the physical act she'd done in furtherance thereof, her weakness of spirit.

The priest paused before giving Jean her penance. "My child, you have confessed sins similar to these frequently over the last months."

"Yes, Father."

"And you have done your penance?"

"Of course."

Father Emery sighed. "This man who is inspiring these thoughts…it is one man?"

"Yes, just the one." Jean felt herself shake with nervousness. Her other confessions hadn't been like this. And Father Emery surely knew of her identity and knew the man of whom she spoke.

"Have you considered that these thoughts that you cannot escape, that they may not be the work of the devil to tempt you to sin, but a sign from God? There is great divinity in the gift of love, my child. There is no shame in loving a man and being loved in return," he told her gently.

"He does not love me in return, Father. Not in the way I love him." Jean's voice cracked as she admitted out loud the pain she'd suffered silently all these months.

"Then perhaps the best thing to do is to remove his presence from your life. The sinful thoughts will end in time if the temptation is taken away," Father Emery pointed out.

Jean had known for quite some time that she wouldn't be able to continue this way indefinitely. Nothing was helping. She hadn't chosen to love Lucien like this, hadn't decided that she would want him this way. He had swept her away. And she couldn't distance herself from him while living in his house. He was like quicksand, pulling her back whenever she thought she could move away from him. But perhaps that's all there was left to her. To move away.

Later that day, when Lucien was busy with a patient and Mattie and Charlie were out at work, Jean dialed the operator long distance in Adelaide.

"Lieutenant Beazley," a crisp voice answered.

"Christopher? It's Mum!" Jean said with a smile.

"Mum, hi! Is everything alright?"

Her face fell momentarily, knowing that he had every right to be concerned with her call out of the blue like this. "Yes, everything's fine. I just wanted to call and see how you're doing. How's Ruby and little Amelia?" she asked.

"Fine, I suppose. Amelia doesn't ever sleep, and she cries a lot. Ruby's been run ragged. But we're coping as best we can," Christopher replied.

That was exactly what Jean had been hoping for. "Do you need any help? I'd love to come and meet my granddaughter and lighten the load," she offered.

"You want to come to Adelaide?"

"Yes, I'd like a change, I think, and seeing you for my birthday those months ago just reminded me how much I miss you. I'd like to be closer to you, especially now that you've got the baby," Jean explained.

"Mum, I'd love that. I really would. But are you sure everything's alright? You seemed very…happy the last time I saw you. The doc and your friends and all, I thought you were doing well." Christopher's worry came through in his tone.

"Everything is fine," she insisted. "I just miss you, is all."

They spent a few more minutes on the phone planning when Jean would come to Adelaide and where she'd stay until she found a place of her own. When she finally hung up, Jean felt a strange sense of calm. This would be good. This would work. This would solve her problem. As long as she was in Ballarat, Lucien would be a part of her life. And as long as Lucien was a part of her life, she would continue to be desperately in love with him and plagued by her lust.

It was three days later when Jean had announced to everyone that she would be moving out in two weeks to go live in Adelaide with her son and his family. She promised Lucien she'd find him another housekeeper, and she swore to Mattie that they'd keep in touch.

Lucien didn't say a word when she shared the news. His face had a dark expression, not quite anger or sadness, but somewhere in between. But Jean knew he just didn't like change. He probably was upset that she had made this decision without consulting him. What could she do? She needed to get away from him if she ever had a chance of being at peace once again.

Before Lucien Blake, Jean Beazley had lived a quiet life. It had been full of sadness and hardship, yes, but she'd always managed. She had always managed to follow the path in front of her, to flow easily through what she knew she was supposed to do. Ever since Lucien had come into her life, however, everything had felt like friction. Like climbing a steep slope. Dangerous and risky and messy and treacherous.

Lucien had been sullen for the whole week, never trying to talk to Jean or ask her to stay. And two days before Jean was set to leave, she stayed in a hotel near the bus station. Much easier to travel that way, having her essentials packed up well in advance of her departure.

Those nights in the hotel were somehow the worst she'd experienced. The distance from Lucien had only increased her want of him. It had only been one day and she missed him terribly. She hadn't even left Ballarat yet.

Jean dreamed she was back in the Blake house, back in her kitchen. Lucien was seated at the table. He said something unintelligible to Jean's mind, but it had made her laugh. She took off her apron and tossed it on an empty chair before hitching up her skirt to straddle his lap. Lucien grasped her hips, grinding her against him to feel his growing hardness. She moaned into his mouth as his tongue traced her hers.

With effortless strength, Lucien lifted Jean and stood up with her wrapped around him. Her head rolled back, exposing the pale column of her neck to his lips and tongue and teeth. But before she knew it, he had put her down. Her knees were wobbly with her arousal. He spun her around, bending her over the kitchen table. He pulled her skirt up and reached underneath the push her knickers down to her ankles. Jean braced herself as she heard him undo his trousers and plunge into her. He gripped her hips tightly. His thrusts were fast and deep and rough. But at that angle, he hit the spot where she needed him. Over and over and over. Her breath came in high-pitched squeaks. He reached around her body to stroke her, give her the pressure and friction she was lacking.

Her own load moan woke Jean this time. Thankfully, it didn't matter now if she woke anyone up. She was in the hotel all alone. Lucien was all the way across town. Despite never being far from her mind, she was safe from him now.

At least that's what she thought. He came to her hotel the day before she was due to leave. It surprised her; he'd given no indication that he cared at all if she left. But she was glad to see him. Even if she was running away to escape him, she did still enjoy the time they spent together. Their chats and experiments for his cases, the easy domesticity of running the household together. She would certainly miss that. It would be good to have one last easy conversation with him.

Jean invited him to her room for a cup of tea. She didn't very much want to be in the lobby with all the prying eyes around them.

"You've solved your case, I take it?" she asked as they sat on the end of the bed together, sipping their tea.

"Mmm," he replied noncommittally.

"That's good."

"Jean, why are you leaving?"

The abruptness of the question surprised her, though she had assumed he would ask her eventually. "I can't stay here, Lucien. My Christopher needs me. And I...I can't stay," she replied, desperately hoping he would believe her excuse.

"I need you, Jean." He took the teacup out of her hand and put it on the dresser before standing in front of where she sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and placed his hands on her arms. "I want you," he whispered, not daring to admit such a thing any louder, lest she throw him out for his indecency.

Jean looked up at him and swallowed hard. Her whole body trembled at his touch, so gentle and yet so commanding. "You...you do?"

"More than anything." He gripped her arms a bit tighter and pulled her up to stand with him. "Please, Jean," he begged.

He leaned in slowly, giving her time to protest. She should have said no. She knew better. But she was leaving, and he wanted her. And if not now, when?

Her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted to receive his kiss.

His mouth was hot and hungry. It was almost amusing, the idea that he could have that hunger for her. Her, of all people. Of all the beautiful, worldly, bright women who would have jumped at the chance to have him in their arms, he somehow wanted her.

"No, please," she whispered against his lips, trying to push him away but being thoroughly unmotivated.

He held her tight in his embrace but moved his face away from hers at her words. He rested his forehead against hers. "Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop and I will," he vowed.

She couldn't answer him. She only tilted her head to recapture his lips. She swallowed the moan he emitted when she ground her hips against his, brushing up against his hardness, tingling at the warmth that bloomed between her legs.

He pulled away again, this time to gulp at the air before bringing his attentions lower, his teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of her neck, his tongue licking the salty sweat that was forming there.

"We can't..." she murmured, having lost any resolve behind her words.

"Tell me to stop," he repeated against her skin, daring her to end their tryst.

Her fingers tightened their grip in his hair, holding him against her.

Emboldened, he let one hand fall from her waist and travel up her skirt. She gasped upon feeling his touch on her bare thigh above her stockings. He paused, waiting for her to finally throw him off her. When she did nothing, he continued his explorations. Her soaking wet knickers caused him to groan with longing.

"How is this possible?" she breathed in disbelief. "Why me?"

"You," he growled. "Always you. Only you."

She jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around this waist, and kissed him messily. She pulled away for just a moment, looking deep into his eyes and telling him with a clear, strong voice, "Don't stop."

And he didn't.

They tumbled back onto the bed. All four of their hands shook as they undressed each other clumsily. When her body was bared to him, he touched her everywhere she'd always imagined him. It seemed as though his hands and his mouth were caressing every inch of her skin. Her own hands clawed at his muscled form, marring his golden body with scratches all over his arms and back and chest. She found purchase grasping his hair as he traveled down her body. His beard caused a pleasant tingle on her breasts and stomach, and by the time his mouth ended up between her thighs, Jean was writhing and gasping for more, more, more.

She opened her eyes for an instant and looked down at him. His piercing blue eyes gazed at her across the flat plane of her stomach.

"Jean, my Jean," he whispered against her as he licked and sucked at her folds.

"Yes, Lucien," she moaned. As her climax overtook her, her whole body arched against the bed. Her thighs clenched around his ears, barely able to suffer through the glory of his ministrations.

Once she relaxed again, he traveled back up her body. His hands squeezed every bit of her, tracing up the line of her thighs and hips and waist and breasts. "Oh Jean," he whispered reverently, kissing her lips once more.

Jean tasted herself on his tongue. It sent a jolt down between her legs once again. She raised her knees to cradle him against her, her heels pressing against his back, urging him to her.

When Lucien finally entered her, Jean swore she saw stars. Never before had anything given her a more beautiful, thrilling feeling. Her body was so attuned to him, so desperate for him. She hadn't even fully recovered from her first orgasm before his thrusts brought her another. Jean crossed her ankles behind his bum, pulling him closer against her. She cried out in ecstasy and bit down hard on the bulging muscle of his shoulder, unable to contain herself.

As her aftershocks dissipated, Lucien felt her go limp. He paused, rolling them over. He held her against his chest, kissing her sloppily as he thrust up into her. He gripped her bum tightly, rolling and grinding her against him, giving as much friction as he could for her. "Come for me again, Jean," he growled. "Once more, my darling."

She whimpered in response. All at once it was too much stimulation and yet not enough and yet exactly right. Her heart was surely going to pound right out of her chest. Her mouth was dry, she could barely breathe, half her body was numb. She emitted silent screams, unable to form any sound. And just as he requested, she came for a third time. Her muscles clenched tightly around him again. This time, it seemed to be exactly what tipped him over the edge. He jerked against her erratically and emptying himself inside her.

Jean collapsed onto him, trying to catch her breath. He had finally stilled. That boundless energy of Lucien Blake had finally run out.

When she could move, she rolled off of him. She reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand of the hotel room bed. Lucien was still practically passed out, so she cleaned herself up a bit and snuggled against him.

"Mmm, Jean," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her sleepily.

She grinned contentedly. "I hope I don't wake up this time. This is the best dream I've had."

"Dreams?"

"You're always so wonderful in all my fantasies," she admitted.

His chest rumbled as he chuckled. "Having you in reality far exceeds any of my fantasies."

She kissed his chest happily. Oh how wonderful it was to be loved.

Although…

Jean realized Lucien hadn't used the word 'love' a single time. He told her he needed her. He wanted her. And in the moment, that was enough. But of course it wasn't enough. Isn't that what Father Emery had said? That the devil was leading her to sin, but to love and be loved was a divine gift from God. Lucien didn't love her. He only desired her, lusted after her as she had lusted after him. But she'd always had the good sense to keep it to herself, to escape his temptation. Jean had given in to temptation this time.

She sat up, pushing herself way from him. "Go. You have to go. I shouldn't have…we shouldn't have…this was…" The panic was rising up from her belly to her throat. The tears pricked her eyes as she frantically pulled her clothes on to cover her body. Anything to escape him. Anything to cover up the dirty, awful truth of what they had done.

"Jean? What's the matter?" he asked in confusion.

"Go!" she repeated, nearly screaming at him.

His jaw dropped as he stared at her stupidly. "Darling?"

She shook her head as the hysteria overtook her. "No. No, no, no. How could you…how could I…This was a mistake. We have committed a mortal sin against God, Lucien. And you must go. I'm leaving tomorrow, and that will be the end," she babbled. Jean's words were barely intelligible; she was crying too hard.

Unsure what else he could do, Lucien dressed himself as quickly as he could. He stood at the door, looking back at her as she sobbed into her hands. "Jean, I…"

She lifted her head to look at him one final time. "Go!"

As soon as Lucien closed the door behind her, Jean collapsed back onto the bed. She sheets still smelled of him. She cried harder.


	4. Chapter 4

Jean wasn't sure she'd slept at all that night. She was exhausted by the time the clock told her it was time to get up and dressed and catch the bus to Adelaide. At least she'd been spared of the dreams.

As she stood at the station, Jean couldn't help but look around, searching for the suit and hat and bearded face she wanted to see. How could she possibly think he would come see her off when she'd thrown him out only a few hours earlier? And why did she even want to see him? She had been the one to turn him away. She had been the one to realize their horrible mistake—her horrible mistake.

But as she boarded the bus at the last possible moment and sat down to watch Ballarat go by, Jean knew why she had hoped Lucien would have come to say goodbye. When she was at her worst moments, since she'd met Lucien Blake, he was the only one she trusted to see her at her lowest. When Thomas Blake died, she had refused to cry until they'd returned home from the cemetery, only feeling safe enough for her emotion when he gave her his handkerchief as she sat on the sofa. When Jack left, Lucien had taken her in her arms and held her when she cried and allowed her to feel as though perhaps everything would be alright.

And now, when her heart beat broken in her chest, she longed for his comforting presence. Never mind that he was the one who had broken her heart, that he was the reason she was leaving. She needed him now more than ever, and he was nowhere to be found.

The bus stopped, interrupting Jean's sad reverie. She looked up, and there he was. Lucien stood at the front of the bus, breathing heavily as though he had just been running. His eyes locked with hers, and Jean felt her heart skip a beat. The deep yearning of his gaze would surely haunt her soul for the rest of her days.

"Jean, I…" he began, coming to sit beside her.

"Don't. Don't say a thing. Not yet," she begged. She didn't want him to try to ask her to stay or try to explain their tryst the day before. She didn't want to have to turn him away again so soon. Not now that he was here. For her.

Lucien didn't try to say another word. He put one arm around her shoulders to bring her to his chest. His beard brushed her forehead as he pressed gentle kisses to her hair. He held her hand, caressing it with his thumb. Jean tucked her head under his chin and relaxed in his embrace. She didn't really know why he was here, how he had found a way to excuse her panicked hysteria the last time they were together, but he was here. And Jean couldn't help but feel blessed for the chance to make this their last momen together and not be plagued forever by the devastated look on his face when she'd screamed at him to leave.

They spent hours huddled together like that. Gentle touches and light kisses of comfort and kindness. Enough to last a lifetime, Jean decided. It would have to be.

"Christopher can't see you," she murmured. The bus was stopping, and she remembered that her son was supposed to meet her. Jean sat up and carefully pushed him away.

He frowned. His eyes darted around, trying to figure out what to do. "I'll wait till you go, shall I? But Jean, I do need to talk to you."

"Yes, of course," she replied, filing out of the bus with the rest of the passengers. She didn't turn back to him as she whispered to herself, "Goodbye, Lucien."

As soon as she saw her son, Jean's mind had lost all interest in Lucien Blake. Christopher was so happy to see her, and when he brought her to his home and she was welcomed by his wife, Jean finally believed she could get the new start she knew she needed.

Amelia was a beautiful and extremely difficult baby, Jean soon learned. She did her best to help Ruby, but there was only so much she could do. Although Jean did enjoy waking up at night to see to Amelia when she cried; Jean was happy to be tired all day if she could be woken up by her granddaughter and not by those awful dreams.

The plan to avoid the dreams, however, had failed. Amelia was up every hour until about three in the morning, when even she decided to sleep for a while. And that was when Jean's mind was left to wander.

Lucien had held her on the bus for hours. He had been gentle and soft and sweet. He had held her hand in a reverent, beautiful way. But he had let her hand go so he could trail his fingers up and down her thigh over the pretty blue material Jean had used to make her travel dress. Soon, however, Lucien's fingers found the hem on the dress and pushed underneath it.

Jean knew all too well the exact tingling from his touch. She put her own hand over his arm, trying in vain to keep her dress from riding up indecently. But her resolve, as always, had failed her. Lucien's nimble fingers found their way to the soft silk of her knickers. With one touch, she felt the warm wetness bloom between her legs. He must have felt it because he chuckled slightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His touch increased in pressure as he slowly stroked her.

Being on the bus like that forced Jean to bite down on the inside of her lips, refusing to allow any sound to escape her. She couldn't even move too much, lest they attract attention from the other passengers.

"Come for me, Jean," he whispered in her ear, moving her knickers aside and thrusting two of his fingers deep inside her. His hot breath was her undoing. She gasped and jumped up.

Jean was sweating and breathing heavily in the dark of an unfamiliar room. The Adelaide moon shone through a crack in the curtains to the alarm clock, informing her that it had been nearly two hours since Amelia had woken her up. Enough time to allow the memories of Lucien's touch and words from their afternoon of sin the day before to infiltrate her mind and taint the innocent and comforting bus ride they had shared. Nothing, it seemed, could remain pure in the dark recesses of her mind. Being away from him, surely, would lessen the effect over time.

The next day, her first full day living in her son's home, Jean was practically overwhelmed by the busyness of a household with a newborn baby. Ruby was running all over the place, trying to do everything at once and getting nothing done. Amelia needed constant attention. Jean told Ruby that Christopher had been the exact same way as a baby, but he'd grown rather self-sufficient and quiet by the time he was about a year old. Until then, however, it was quite terrifying for a young mother to deal with.

The phone rang throughout the day and Ruby always seemed to drop everything to answer it. Her reputation as a social butterfly certainly hadn't changed after having a baby. Early in the morning, just after Christopher left, Lucien had called to speak to Jean. She told Ruby to take a message. He only said he'd call back later. When he did call back in the afternoon, Jean had her hands full bathing Amelia. Again, he left no message. Jean ignored the way her heart constricted in her chest each time she forced herself away from speaking to him. But he would figure out in time that she didn't want to speak with him, and he would stop calling. He didn't need to know she did desperately want to speak to him, but she knew better than to allow it. She knew she couldn't have a piece of him in her life without all of him. And all of him was certainly out of the question.

Lucien did not figure out that she didn't want to speak to him, however. He instead found his way onto the army base and to Christopher Beazley's house. Ruby was out shopping and Christopher was working, so Jean was there alone with Amelia, who had just gone down for her nap.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in surprise, seeing him at the front door.

He didn't say a word. He grabbed her around the waist and kissed her roughly. She could do nothing but melt into his embrace. They stumbled through the house, bumping into the walls.

"Lucien, the baby's asleep," Jean told him breathlessly.

"In here," he growled, opening the door to the linen closet and pulling her inside.

His lips were on her neck in an instant, sucking and nipping on her sensitive skin as she gasped in delight. Her fingers tangled in his hair, scratching his scalp with her nails. His hands roamed her body, palming her breasts through her blouse and pulling her skirt up to her waist. Before she knew what was happening, he had lifted one of her legs so he'd have easy access to stroke her through her knickers. Jean began to fumble with his belt. She couldn't wait another second for him. She reached into his trousers and stroked him to full hardness. Lucien moaned and kissed her so she'd swallow his sound. He ripped her knickers and plunged into her wet warmth, immediately setting a frantic pace. Jean's head knocked against one of the shelves with the force of his thrusts, but she didn't care at all. The only thing in her consciousness was Lucien, hard and hot and hungry for her.

In the distance, a sound interrupted her lusty haze. It took her a moment to realize it was the sound of Amelia crying. "The baby," she breathed in recognition.

Jean opened her eyes, seeing the ceiling of the guest room she'd been sleeping in. Her heart was racing from her dream and, as usual, the yearning ache between her legs was practically overwhelming. Now that she knew exactly how he could satiate her, the dreams were so much more difficult to bear. But Jean knew she'd just have to put that right out of her mind. She got out of bed, squirming a bit as she put on her dressing gown to go see to Amelia.

All the rest of the day, Jean couldn't walk by the linen closet without blushing. Why or how she had thought of such vulgar thing in such a simple, innocent place, she would never know.

Jean's third night in Adelaide was her first without a single dream. Even Amelia kept quiet most of the night, allowing the whole house to sleep soundly. When she woke up completely normally and naturally, Jean couldn't help but feel the smallest twinge of regret. She had been begging God for a reprieve from those dreams, but now that she'd finally had a night free of them and free of Lucien's presence, she realized that she missed it. She missed him. But Jean had known for quite some time that her feelings for Lucien Blake weren't solely based in her physical desire. She should have known that it would take longer to get over being in love with him.

But Jean did her best to get through the day as pleasantly as she could, enjoying integrating herself within the household, helping Ruby and bonding with Amelia. She even got to make dinner for her son for the first time in many, many years.

"Oh, Mum, I forgot, this arrived for you," Christopher said, entering the kitchen after changing out of his uniform and handing her the envelope addressed to her.

The handwriting was unmistakable. Jean frowned and opened it.

 _My darling Jean,_

 _I can't bear to say goodbye to you, but if I must, I cannot go without expressing my feelings for you. I should have said so many things to you that afternoon at your hotel or on the bus the next day, but I didn't. I know you didn't want me to explain. I owe it to us both, however, to try if I can._

 _The simple fact is that I love you. I tried to maintain our bounds of friendship, of doctor and housekeeper, of lonely, bitter man and strong, upstanding woman. Somewhere over these years we have spent in my father's house—our house—I have fallen madly and irrevocably in love with you. Your brilliant mind, your cutting wit, your kind compassion, your exquisite beauty, your unending strength, and your overwhelming goodness have all cast a spell over me that I could never dream of breaking._

 _I do want to apologize, however, for the improper and seemingly unwelcome ways my love for you has manifested. I couldn't find a way to beg you to stay. I couldn't even seem to find the words to tell you of the depth of my feelings. Instead, I was overcome by my desire for you. I do desire you Jean, and now that I've had a taste of the delicious coupling between us, I know I shall desire you till the day I die. But I somehow did not make it clear that my desire for you is built from my love. Yes, I found you beautiful and alluring from our first moment together, but the sleepless nights I've spent wishing for your touch and your kiss did not begin until you had thoroughly stolen my heart._

 _My heart will belong to you forever, and though I know you do not want me in the way I so desperately want you, I shall continue to love you. And that is why I know I must let you go. You are starting a new life here in Adelaide, and I would be doing you a disservice if I did not respect that choice._

 _I will be traveling back to Ballarat tomorrow. I left rather abruptly, and I'm sure I have responsibilities that you wouldn't approve of me shirking just so I could remain in Adelaide and pine after you. But I couldn't leave without making sure you know of my deepest affection for you. Be happy, dear Jean. That is all I want. Even if I cannot be the one to give you the happiness you deserve, I do hope you find it._

 _All my love,_

 _Lucien_

Jean thought her heart may have stopped beating. She stared at the words on the page, the outpouring of love in every drop of ink. Love. He loved her. He loved her enough to let her go and find a way to be happy. And he was leaving tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

She snatched the envelope back from where she'd put it on the table. The date stamped by the post office was the day before. That meant he had left for Ballarat today.

"I need to go," she breathed.

Christopher looked up from his evening newspaper. "Sorry?"

"I…I need to go. I'm sorry." Jean could hear the distant, dazed quality of her voice. She clutched the letter tight in her fist and rushed around the house. She'd only unpacked a few things in the three days she'd been in Adelaide but it all got unceremoniously thrown in the suitcase. She kissed Amelia and said goodbye to Ruby and gave Christopher a quick hug as she took the keys to his car. "I'll explain later. I have to go!" she yelled over the rumbling engine.

All Christopher could do was wave in confusion as his mother drove away in his car.

If Jean had taken a moment to pause and think about what she was doing, she would have been absolutely appalled at her rash behavior. But she didn't think about that. For the first time in such a very long time, she felt hopeful. It was a dangerous hope, she knew, to even entertain the possibility that he really did love her, as he'd written, and he really did want her the way she wanted him. But the danger of that hope made her feel alive. She was flying down the highway in Christopher's car. She could drive much faster than the bus could, even if she would need to stop for petrol on the way. And though she'd left late, she could surely make it to Ballarat not too long after Lucien.

The darkness grew around her. The headlights shone through the lonely night, helping to keep her awake and alert. Though even after hours of driving, she couldn't even contemplate sleep. All she knew was that she needed to get to him. She would follow him home, and maybe, just maybe, the long drive would be made more than worth it.

Her heartrate increased as she entered Ballarat, driving down streets she'd known all her life. She turned onto Mycroft and felt practically giddy. Home. She was finally home.

Lucien's car was parked out front. The house was dark save for one light. It shone from the window of his study. He was home.

Jean parked Christopher's car beside Lucien's and ran to the front door. She still had her own key. She dropped her suitcase in the hall to rush into his study.

"Lucien," she breathed, seeing him standing there by the bookshelf.

His eyes met hers, wide with surprise. "Jean? What are you…"

He never finished the sentence. Jean had leapt into his arms to kiss him passionately. There would be time for talking later.


	5. Chapter 5

Jean's mind was a muddled haze. Lucien's tongue was caressing hers, his hands roamed all over her body as she clung tightly to him, moaning into his mouth.

"Are you really here?" he asked breathlessly, pressing kisses to her cheeks and jaw and down her neck.

"Oh, I hope this isn't a dream," she moaned in reply.

Lucien seemed to take that as a sufficient response. His hands trailed down her hips to grasp her bum, lifting her up. He carried her over to his desk, shoving everything out of the way to sit her down on the surface. As her hands shook to undo his trousers, he reached up her skirt to pull down her knickers.

Jean couldn't believe this was happening. Here. Like this. She bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely. As her underthings fell to the floor when she kicked her shoes off. Lucien's erection was freed from his trousers a moment later. She licked her lips and saw him grin at her reaction.

"You see what you do to me, Jean?" he asked seductively, stroking himself as she watched.

"Please," she whispered, grabbing his hips to draw him close to her. She hitched her skirt up her waist and spread her legs for him.

He rubbed against her entrance and found her wet and ready for him already. "Oh, Jean," he groaned in arousal.

"You see what you do to me?" she repeated back to him, pulling his face to hers to kiss him roughly.

Lucien pushed into her. They both gasped at the sensation, still so new to them both. It had only been a few days since they first made love, but now, it was different. They could both feel it. Their coupling was desperate, full of unbridled need, but it lacked the plaintive sorrow of that afternoon in Jean's hotel; there was now a sense of belonging and a promise of forever.

As Lucien stroked her to climax, Jean clutched the collar of his shirt, holding him close to her as she shuddered around him. He lifted her up in his arms, still hard inside her, and carried her through the parlor into his bedroom.

He extricated himself from her and gently put her down on the bed. She was still breathing heavily from their first frantic round of lovemaking. "I can't believe you came back," he breathed.

Jean smiled up at him. "I got your letter," she explained.

His brow jumped up his forehead. "And it changed your mind?" Lucien reached down and took one of her long, shapely legs in his hands.

As he caressed her from calf to thigh and back down, Jean lay back on the bed and hummed happily. "Yes," she said simply.

Lucien unclipped her stockings and rolled them down her leg, taking his time on each one. "Why?" he asked, unwilling to let the point be dropped.

Jean propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. "Your letter. You said you love me."

He nodded, dipping his head to kiss her bare thighs. "I do love you."

"And that's why I came back."

Lucien paused, by now kneeling between her legs and unbuttoning her blouse as she lay before him. "You really didn't know?"

Jean put her hand on his and held it to her heart. "Lucien, I've dreamed of you for so long, but I never really believed any of this could be real. I couldn't allow myself to fall for the treacherous hope that you could ever love me back. I knew it was reckless to even dream, but I couldn't help it."

He gazed at her, jaw dropped in awe.

She trailed her fingers down his cheek, stroking his beard. "I love you so very much," she told him.

Lucien's mouth spread into the biggest beaming smile she'd ever seen. He leaned in to kiss her. "I love you," he repeated reverently between kisses.

Jean turned her attention to bringing him to a state of undress to match her own. This time, they made love softer, slower, taking their time with each other. They each whispered words of love to tattoo the other's skin, etch the feeling on their hearts, burn the promise in their minds.

They finally collapsed beside each other, hearts pounding, breathing heavily through smiling, laughing mouths. Lucien reached out for her, pulling her against him and holding her close with their foreheads pressed together. He lazily stroked her hair and soft skin of her bare shoulders and back. Jean's hand rested on his chest, feeling the proud pounding of his heart.

"Jean, did you say you dreamed of me?" he asked, once he'd regained the power of speech.

If she weren't already flushed from exertion, she would have blushed. "Yes. Delicious torture, it was."

"What did you dream of?"

She chuckled. "Oh goodness. I dreamed of you. Of this. I dreamed of you making love to me. The way your touch would feel, the way you'd move, the way you'd sound, the way you'd taste."

"Oh my," he replied with an excited growl.

"Father Emery's been quite worried about me, I think. The frequency of my confessions of lustful and impure thoughts. It was awful. I prayed every night, wishing the dreams would go away, leave me in peace. But there was nothing I could do. I knew I needed to get away from you to make them stop," she admitted to him, snuggling closer to him in apology for her foolish mistake.

"And did getting away from me make it stop?"

"Not in the least. Not after I knew the way reality far exceeded anything my dreams had come up with."

He trailed his hands further down her body, softly massaging the flesh of her bum. "Tell me what you dreamed of, Jean," he whispered.

She moaned, his ministrations arousing her once again. And so she told him. With her breasts pressed against the solid plane of his chest, she described the dreams where he would come to her bedroom at night and put his hands all over her body, the dreams where he would take her bent over the kitchen table after they finished washing the dishes, the dreams where they made love sitting in a chair or standing up against a wall.

By the time she finished speaking, her words had been over taken by her moans. Lucien had grown hard hearing her describe the desires of her subconscious. He hitched her leg up over his hip and slipped inside her once again. "I'm going to make all your dreams come true, my darling," he vowed.

"Yes, Lucien," she replied, kissing him messily as they thrust against one another.

Jean couldn't believe the way her body responded to him. He seemed to know her desires as well as she did, coaxing her to the highest heights of ecstasy. His lips sucked hard on her neck, and she dug her fingernails into his scalp. The pain and pleasure of their coupling caused them both to tumble over the edge. Jean felt her muscles contract around him as he emptied inside her. The warm wetness trailed down her legs and it would surely be uncomfortable soon, but she couldn't let him go. They clutched at each other as their breathing slowed.

Lucien rolled over, pulling Jean with him. She lay on top of him, softly kissing his neck and shoulder. "We should clean up," she suggested.

He laughed, making her shake from the rumbling of his chest.

"What's so funny?" she asked, confused.

"You've had your dreams, darling, and I've had mine," he confessed.

She sat up. "Really?"

"Oh lord, yes. Months and months and months of fantasies about making love to you in every conceivable way."

Jean grinned. "We've got the rest of our lives to live out every single one of your fantasies."

He propped his head up on his hand. "I take it you'll be staying, then?"

She stroked his beard again, enjoying the way he'd nuzzle into her touch. "I don't know how I thought I could leave you. You took my heart long ago, Lucien. I can't survive without it, and I never want to be without you for another day as long as I live. That's why when I read your letter and learned that you felt about me the way I feel about you, I followed you home to tell you so."

"Yes, how did you get here?"

"I drove." Jean gasped, clasping her hands over her mouth. "Oh my goodness, I took Christopher's car! I didn't tell him what was going on. I didn't tell anyone. I just took the keys. Lucien, I stole Army property!"

Lucien laughed hysterically.

"It isn't funny! What am I going to do!?"

He pulled her back into his arms. "It'll be fine, darling. In the morning, you'll call Christopher and explain. And after that, I think we should go see Father Emery."

Jean forgot about her panic over stolen property for a moment. "You want to see Father Emery?" she asked in surprise.

"Yes, we should see how soon he can marry us."

Her heart skipped a beat in her joy. "Well, seeing as you haven't asked me to marry you, I don't think that's much of a concern," she replied teasingly.

Lucien nodded. "To the jewelry store on the way to the church, then. We'll find a ring and then I can ask you properly."

A warmth flooded Jean from the inside out. This was more than a dream come true. Not even her dreams could have fathomed this, lying in bed naked with him as he discussed marrying her. She cleared her throat, trying to remain calm and somewhat pragmatic. "You keep getting off track," she scolded.

"Do I?"

"Yes. I suggested getting cleaned up, and you got distracted by a fantasy of yours. You never did tell me what it was, but we do still need to take a bath."

He grinned hungrily. "Yes, that was my fantasy. I would very much like to take a bath with you, my darling."

"Oh." Her voice was full of surprise.

His face fell. "Oh?"

"I hadn't thought about that. But I think it's a rather good idea."

Lucien's grin returned. He leapt out of bed and took her hand to take her into the bathroom. As the bath filled, he held her in his arms and whispered in her ear exactly what he wanted to do to her under the water.

It was a long time before Jean and Lucien actually went to sleep that night. The stayed up for hours talking and making love, not wanting to waste a moment of their time together. It hadn't sunk in yet, that they'd be able to spend the rest of their lives in just this state of delirious joy. When they finally did fall asleep, each slept better than they had in months. No dreams plagued them now. For the first time, reality was better than any dream.

The next afternoon, Jean entered Sacred Heart on Lucien's arm. Father Emery was just coming out of the confessional.

"Ah, Mrs. Beazley, Dr. Blake, it's nice to see you both. Mrs. Beazley, have you come for confession?"

Jean felt her cheeks grow warm. Since her last confession, she realized, she'd engaged in a number of mortal sins, fornication being the chief among them. "No, not today. We actually hoped we could speak with you together," she replied, trying not to bring up the topic awkwardly. She glanced down at her left hand, resting on Lucien's arm. A diamond and emerald ring sparkled on her finger.

"Father Emery, what's the soonest date you have available to perform a wedding?" Lucien asked, standing proudly.

The priest looked from Lucien to Jean was pleased to see a beaming smile. "It is a divine gift from God to love and be loved in return," he said pointedly.

Jean nodded subtly, her smile growing.

"If you'd like to come to my office, we can consult the calendar and find a date for your wedding," Father Emery offered.

The couple followed the Father, going side by side into their future together. The treacherous slope Jean and Lucien had braved to find each other had been worth every reckless moment for them to find their home in each other's love.


End file.
